An Army of Tooks
by Mariole
Summary: Book canon, gap filler. Pippin rides to Tuckborough to bring reinforcements for the Battle of Bywater. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

"…_they keep a pretty close watch on Tookland. No one gets in nor out of it now." _

"_Good for the Tooks!" cried Pippin. "But someone is going to get in again, now. I'm off to the Smials. Anyone coming with me to Tuckborough?"_

_Pippin rode off with half a dozen lads on ponies. "See you soon!" he cried. "It's only fourteen miles or so over the fields. I'll bring you back an army of Tooks in the morning." _

—"_The Scouring of the Shire," The Return of the King._

Pippin leaned low over his pony's neck. The dark night made it hard going through the hedges and fens. They daren't use a light, for they didn't want to alert any Men or spies to their movements. The Bywater lads followed Pippin's lead, which was well enough. For all that it had been more than a year since Pippin had ridden this way, he knew the grounds round Tuckborough well—though even in the darkness he couldn't escape noticing the effects of the invaders' presence: here was a scarred patch of earth, blackened by some fire; here a hedge had been hacked to pieces, or a large tree left lying, lopped to bits. Yet the fields were the fields he had known, and he could have followed the undulations of the land in his sleep. But sleep was very far from him tonight, despite his long day, and the many days of travel before. No, tonight Pippin's heart had wings.

_Home!_ He felt it in every fiber of his being. This was his place, his land—his people. For all his travels, all his adventures, all the wonderful things he had seen—this was his place. A little part of him lived here always, whether he was abrading his cheek against some orc's scratchy hide, or kicking his heels six feet off the floor, drinking a marvelous draught on the edge of an Ent's tall table.

The bushes thickened, and the little cavalcade closed up. Pippin's pony, whom he'd dubbed Cormallen, balked. _He_ was tired from the long hours of travel, even if Pippin wasn't. Pippin patted his companion on the neck, then urged him through the brush. The land was soggy here, creating a little wooded band that divided the tilled fields southwest of Bywater from the start of Tookland proper. Branches snapped under hoofs. The ponies puffed, fretting at the bushes, or the damp, or possibly the aura of nerves that Pippin was sure emanated from every one of them. Tonight was a turning point for the Shire, and every lad amongst them was keenly aware of it.

Cormallen broke through into a clearing. The pony halted willingly when Pippin reined him in, to allow the others to catch up.

Suddenly Cormallen whinnied. At almost the same instant, a voice cried from the black woods ahead, "_Stay where you are!_"

The ponies behind Pippin, fresher than his own, snorted and tossed their heads. Even with the fuss, Pippin heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow being pulled from a quiver.

"Don't move!" he said urgently to those behind him, as the voice ahead of him resumed.

"You have reached the bounds of Tookland. All those who live here recognize the sole authority of the Thain. State your name and your business! But I warn you, none may enter here, unless they answer to the Thain and no other."

"Alas," said Pippin, "that I cannot do; for I am bound by previous oath to answer to the King. But I think the Thain might speak with me, despite that fact."

The unseen interrogator paused. "_Who_ did you say you were?"

"Peregrin Took. Really, Ferdibrand, has it been so long? I thought you might do me the courtesy of recognizing my voice. But then, it _has_ been a long year full of adventures. I suppose you thought me moldering in an unmarked grave somewhere, and had put me completely out of mind."

"Peregrin? Peregrin Took?" There was a whispered conference among the trees.

Pippin began to grow annoyed, when Ferdibrand called out to him again. "Have you a light? I want to see you."

Pippin sighed. "Very well." He climbed off Cormallen, saying to the rider behind him, "Rudi, is your torch handy?"

The party carried torches in case the going got heavy. Though they had managed so far without them, Pippin was glad now that they were prepared.

While Rudi dismounted and stumbled over the tangled roots and boggy soil to reach Pippin's side, Pippin felt inside his collar. His Gondorian armor was more tailored than his original traveling clothes had been, so he drew out the soft leather wallet with some difficulty. Within it lay only his trusty wooden pipe, and a light for it. Opening the pouch, his words came back to him, as if reverberating across the leagues from the wreck of Isengard: _I keep a treasure or two near my skin, as precious as Rings to me._ Pippin couldn't suppress his smile. The wallet had held _two_ pipes at his journey's beginning. It was odd to think that the other was now in the hands of a Dwarf somewhere beneath the Lonely Mountain, half of Middle-earth away.

Rudi held out the torch, and Pippin lit it. It flared into an orange bloom, sharply outlining the naked sticks of the willow brake, and illuminating the branches and trunks of the close-set trees ahead. The area beyond the flickering glow remained impenetrable shadow.

"Hold it up," Pippin instructed. Standing so the light would catch his face, he turned and faced the trees. The orange light gleamed dully in the sable links of the armor of Gondor. The silver tree on the front of his breast was kindled into flame.

There was a rustling from the trees, and the hunters emerged. Pippin's relation, Ferdibrand, walked in front, followed by Rollo, also of the Smials, and a lad from Tuckborough, whom Pippin remembered seeing, although he couldn't recall his name. Ferdibrand advanced, eyes fixed on Pippin's face. He stopped a pace off, staring in wonder.

Pippin didn't move. "Hello, Ferdi," he said softly.

Ferdibrand's lips moved. "Pip," he whispered. He stared a moment longer—then stepped forward and clasped Pippin in a hearty embrace. "_Pippin!_" He hugged his cousin joyfully, then pulled back half a pace, staring upwards in fascination. "It really _is_ you."

Pippin smiled. "Who else would it be?"

Ferdi's eyes traveled over him. "Well, in that gear, and with that voice and size, it could have been anyone. Anyone else, I mean."

"Not anyone. A messenger from the King, who's returned to the Shire with his three companions, safe and sound. The four of us intend to set the present situation right, starting now."

Ferdi shook his head. In the torchlight, his eyes looked glassy. "This will be the news to heal the Thain's heart. But, what happened to you?" Ferdi's eyes traveled upwards, with confusion in his face. "You must be four inches taller than you used to be, and your voice has grown along with it."

During the journey, Pippin usually forgot about his increased height. The Elves and Men were so tall in comparison, an inch more or less hardly amounted to much. Of the hobbits, Merry had grown right along with him, and Pippin had always been taller than Sam anyway. Frodo, true, had seemed to shrink; but Frodo was so altered by his ordeal that Pippin had classed mentally him in a category of his own. Whatever Frodo did or looked like, was right.

So it was strange indeed to come home to Tookland, and stand toe-to-toe with a well-known face belonging to somebody who'd always been taller than he (Ferdi was, after all, seven years older)—only to find the tables turned, and Pippin looking down at _him_. Pippin suspected his voice might have become slightly deeper with his growth, but he hadn't noticed such a drastic change as Ferdi seemed to imply.

Yet here Ferdi stood, dumb with amazement, his relief and happiness glittering in his eyes. Pippin clasped his cousin's shoulder gently.

"I should like to tell you all, but we haven't time. A battle is brewing at Bywater; we have raised the Shire. I reckon they can handle the gang from Hobbiton; there are some stout fellows there. But it will not be enough, if these rogues send for reinforcements. I promised Merry and Frodo that I should bring them an army of Tooks by morning. What say you? Will Tookland come?"

Ferdi drew himself up. "That it will. Yes, we certainly will! Rollo!" The other hobbit from the Smials jumped forward. "Ride west to the next post. Tell Everard the news. Have him send one of his lads westward to spread the alarm, and bring one of them back with you. Leave him and Hamil here to guard the trail, and then continue south. We must get word to Faramond's lads at Pincup, to keep that mob in the South Farthing at bay. Hamil," he continued, turning to the younger lad from Tuckborough, who stood dazzle-eyed with excitement. "Stay here, and watch for any Gatherers who might have followed Pippin's trail. Do not engage them! It's vitally important that you remain undetected, and report the intrusion to Everard's chaps, or to the next post south, so we can deal with them. Do you understand me?"

Hamil looked thrilled and terrified at once. "I'll do my part, Ferdi!"

"Here." Ferdibrand removed a horn that hung from his belt, and handed it to Hamil. The younger hobbit took it with awe. "Remember," Ferdi instructed, "use it only in dire need. But, if you must, don't be afraid to give it voice. Whatever you do, you mustn't be stopped before you send on the alarm."

Suddenly, with other sight, Pippin recalled the grisly scene at Amon Hen: Boromir, surrounded by at least a hundred orcs, trumpeting valiantly under a rain of arrows, his great horn calling again and again for aid that never came. A mist appeared before Pippin's eyes, and he swallowed back the tears.

But Hamil, pleased with his commission, stood straighter. "You can count on me, Ferdi. All of you chaps can."

Ferdibrand clapped him on the shoulder. "I was certain that we could. And now, Pip, I'd best take you in. Else you'll be stopped by every watch along the way, who will be just as incredulous as to your identity as I was."

Pippin forced a smile. "Lead on, Ferdi. The night is passing, and we shall need every minute of it."


	2. Chapter 2

Paladin slept ill these nights. For all the natural protection that the Great Smials and Green Hills gave his folk, this siege was not sustainable. Tookland held far too little arable land. Now, as the year was failing, and the days grew longer and darker, so grew the shadow in Paladin's heart. People would starve this winter. He felt it in his bones. It infuriated him that there was no good reason for it. Only greed, and an absence of conscience that would let ruin spread indiscriminately across the land, was to blame. Yet folk would die from it, all the same.

Time and again he'd worried over how he might revolt, and time and again he could find no safe way to do so. There were too few of them able to help. Last winter, Saradoc had taken Paladin's lead, and sealed off Buckland from the intruders. The Buckleberry Ferry was grounded, and the Hay Gate locked. Both sides patrolled the River, maintaining Buckland's isolation. At times Saradoc managed to get small parties across the River by boat, for news or essential supplies. Now and again, he attempted the riskier method of sending out a patrol by way of the Hedge gate. Some of them never returned. They disappeared into the Old Forest, just as Pippin had done.

Paladin closed his eyes. No, there could be no help from Buckland. The distance from Tookland was simply too great. Between them lay a stronghold of Men in the Woody End—set there deliberately, he didn't doubt. Messages between the Smials and the Hall were not impossible, but they were rare. He needed reliable news for any revolt to succeed. And what of the vast majority of the hobbits, who had no such refuge to which to retreat? Any uprising of Paladin's might only make their lives more miserable. Villains who imprisoned the old and the weak might stoop to any atrocity. It had been far too long since a Thain had mustered the Shire. Bitterly, Paladin reflected that the Shirefolk at large seemed to have forgotten how to stand up for themselves when required.

Beside him in the big bed, Eglantine stirred. Paladin lay still, but she wasn't fooled. A warm hand groped its way across his chest, then stroked his cheek. Eglantine shifted closer. "What are you thinking?" she whispered.

"I'm thinking that the winter will be long and cold. We should ration everything, not just the vital stores."

Eglantine paused, then laid her head against his chest. She fiddled with the embroidered ties at the front of his nightshirt. "I'll take the girls into the storeholes tomorrow. We'd best know how much we can spare, and still save enough for the Spring."

"Spring." Paladin felt near to despair. Spring was the "starving time," the hardest part of the year. How could his folk fight off well-supplied ruffians, when they were weak on their legs from short commons? Chances were, if they lasted until Spring, Tookland would fall. Spirit she had in plenty; what she lacked was strength.

Eglantine kissed his chest, startling him. "We'll get through this. We always do."

There seemed little point in arguing with her. Paladin saw a different future, one in which the last islands of refuge were starved and assimilated one by one. What made everything worse was knowing that simpleton Lotho was behind it. A blockhead who couldn't make a move without a written plan, with every step spelled out for him—and now look at him! Snapped up most of the Shire, and de facto taken it over. It astounded Paladin, how a hobbit of such substandard abilities should rise to a position that let him inflict his cruelty and incompetence upon so many others.

Eglantine rubbed his chest. Gently, he put her hand aside.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he murmured. "There's no sleep in me tonight. I'll look over the maps one more time. Perhaps there's a parcel of useful land somewhere that we can take and hold." He threw aside the bedclothes and rose.

"Have Erling make you a warm milk," Eglantine murmured, as Paladin knotted the belt of his dressing gown.

"I'd rather not disturb anyone. Don't worry about me. I simply must prowl about until my mind settles upon some solution."

He had reached the door, and was on the point of going out, when Eglantine's soft call stopped him. "Pal."

He turned. His wife was sitting up in bed, a tumble-haired silhouette. Even in the dark, melancholy was evident in her posture. It was certainly present in her voice.

"Sometimes," she said softly, "there _is_ no solution."

Paladin stared a moment, then turned the knob and went. A single sconce at the end of the corridor guided his steps. Paladin walked briskly but lightly, frowning in concentration.

There _must_ be a solution. There was _always_ a solution.

So spoke his conscious mind. But there was an empty room in the smial, and an unfilled chair at the table. Every day they forced him to confront the fact that sometimes wishes were futile, and the keenest hopes could never be fulfilled.


	3. Chapter 3

Ferdibrand was true to his word, and got the little band though the checkpoints expediently. Pippin was glad of his assistance, for they were stopped twice more. Apparently, his father had a network of watchers all through the approaches to Tuckborough. That alone told Pippin how desperate the situation was. Moreover, each group was just as quick to spread the word as Ferdi's had been. By the time they left the second outpost, to ride into Tuckborough proper, Pippin's heart was light. It seemed they might really be in a position to deliver him an army by morning, if folk could be summoned with the same efficiency with which they spread the news.

Pippin crested the bowl that led to the town of Tuckborough. The woods loomed on every side, only opening out into tillable land on his right, vaguely indicated by the smooth, distant humps of the Downs. Before them rose the bank of the Great Smials, black against a cloudy sky, a tree-shrouded silhouette. No lights showed in the valley; these were farming folk, farriers, and shopkeepers. They needed their night's rest. At first look, Pippin thought the Smials were the same, all dark; yet as they drew nearer, he could see a faint light gleaming here and there. Some few were still up, but whether reading, or keeping watch, or simply suffering from a sleepless night, Pippin couldn't say.

The guard at the edge of the village was alert enough. "Halt!" he cried, from a little shack that Pippin hadn't seen before. Apparently, a guardhouse had been erected since he had last ridden this road—ages ago, that seemed. Its martial presence jarred him. "Who rides in Tookland?"

"Ferdibrand, from the eastern watch," announced Pippin's guide. "The Shire is rising. I bring riders from Bywater, who ask for Tookland's aid."

"Riders." The guard peeped from the shelter of his shack (doubtless erected to discourage arrows), and held his lantern high. The light fell across Pippin, who had halted at Ferdi's side. Even from six paces off, Pippin heard him gasp.

"No," the guard murmured. "It can't be true. The Thain's son is dead." The lantern began to tremble. "You're… you're spirits from the Old Forest. I… I can't—"

"Peace, Roddy," said Pippin gently. "I am real enough. A spirit wouldn't be as weary as I am at the moment, yet I have all the distance of Tookland to cross again tonight, if I'm to bring back the help I promised."

"Peregrin Took," Roddy whispered. Uncertainly, he stepped forward, holding up the lantern unsteadily. He cleared his throat. "They said you were lost in the Forest, sir. We never heard a word from you all this year." He looked anxiously at Ferdibrand, as if afraid to hope. "It's true, then? He's alive?"

"As alive as you and me," Ferdi confirmed.

Roddy let out his breath in a rush. He managed a weak smile. "Well, we can use you at home, sir, there's no doubt. Pass, most welcome hobbits! But tell me," he drew back, to give Pippin and the others a clear road. "Shall I sound the alert? Tookland will be cheered to learn of your safe return. And you… you said wanted help?"

"I think, Roddy," Ferdi said, as his pony walked by, "we might wait for the Thain to give the word. And I would rather he learnt the news about Pippin directly from him. We'll ride to the Smials now. But you might roust those that you expect to march with us—quietly, if you like."

"Oh, I will, I will!" Roddy's head bobbed, his disbelief giving way to excitement and pleasure. "This is splendid news, the best I've heard in a month of Mondays. Thank you, Ferdibrand. Welcome home, Peregrin Thainson." And he bowed low.

"Thank you, Roddy," Pippin acknowledged, bowing his head as well as he might. He straightened to find himself riding between the dark shapes of hobbits, two on each side of the road. They also bowed, although quickly, popping up again as if eager to catch a glimpse. Obviously, they had remained hidden behind the guardhouse, ready to shoot from the shadows should Roddy need support. Behind them, buildings rose from the gloom, anonymous in darkness. Who knew how many others, perhaps, kept watch there?

Pippin's heart started to go all anyhow. Now and then on his journey, he had envisioned riding home. In his imagination, it had always taken place on a pleasant afternoon, where the surprised shock and warm welcome were immediately followed with strawberries and biscuits on the porch. He had never anticipated returning from his travels in the dead of night, to an armed camp. And he had not expected to be so generally assumed dead.

He recalled now his parting dinner with his family, the day before he left for Hobbiton to help Frodo complete his packing—as well as keep an eye on him. Although he doubted that Frodo meant to give them the slip at this late date, it was best with Frodo to be prepared.

"So," his father had said, after his place had been cleared for coffee. "It's off to Hobbiton for a few days, and then… _walking_, to Crickhollow?"

Pippin popped a final roll into his mouth, before the basket disappeared. "I think Frodo means to get into better shape," he said around it.

"Hmph, he could use it," his father said, reaching for the sugar.

"Pal," his mother admonished. "Frodo looks very well."

"He could use the conditioning," Paladin continued. His keen eye caught Pippin's. "As could this son of mine."

"Really, Dad," said Pearl, rolling her eyes. "What is there Pippin needs to be in condition _for_, save drinking? You act as if there is going to be an _invasion_ or something."

Despite her protest, Pearl seemed only marginally interested in his trip. Nel and Vinca were not attending at all, being deep in some side conversation of their own. Pippin's visit to his cousin meant nothing to them, except as a piece of news. Pippin felt rather pleased about that. It meant that he had kept the matter suitably offhand. The family had been far more distressed over Frodo's decision to sell his lovely smial than they were over the actual move to Crickhollow. So much the better.

But Paladin had glowered at his eldest daughter's remark, stirring his coffee briskly. "An invasion is just what we're likely to get!" He said it so sharply, everyone looked at him. Even the younger sisters broke off their chat to stare at him.

Eglantine seemed uneasy. "These reports from the Bounders… surely you're making more of them than is called for."

"I don't think so." Paladin puffed on his coffee, and took a sip. Whether because it was bitter, or if he was merely preoccupied, he winced and set it down again. "It's not just the Bounders, my dear. There are reports—odd reports—within the Shire itself, even as deep inside as Bywater. A sighting here and there I can dismiss. When they come as hard upon one another as they've been coming, and almost to our doorstep—well, that is another matter."

The entire table fell silent. Pippin grew uneasy. He had imagined his adventure as taking place somewhere outside of the Shire, after Frodo and the rest of them were well beyond its bounds—rather as Bilbo's had. To think that adventure might be coming _into_ the Shire, into his quiet valley, unsettled him in the extreme. It was not supposed to be that way; it would upset all his plans. Yet there was his father's stern face, proclaiming the distinct possibility. Pippin lowered his head. His little deception was proving to be a larger matter than he had initially supposed.

"Well, an invasion hasn't happened yet," said his mother brightly. "Perhaps it never will."

"Perhaps," Paladin allowed—though grudgingly, Pippin thought. Pippin's mind raced as he tried to sort the implications.

"Let's turn to happier thoughts," Eglantine announced. She turned to Pippin, shattering his attempt to think. "You've been rather vague about your plans. Have you any idea when you might be home again?"

Pippin's sisters rolled their eyes, bored already. Vinca and Nel resumed their previous conversation.

With a new sense of guilt, Pippin forced himself to meet his mother's eyes. "I really cannot say. I always intended to stay on for a while, and help Frodo settle in."

"Yes, but how long is 'a while?'" Eglantine persisted. "I'd be relieved to hear something more definite, particularly with all these reports coming in."

"He'll hardly run into trouble on the way to Crickhollow," Paladin said dismissively. "He's not a lad anymore, my dear. I daresay he's been introduced to pen and parchment by now. He'll let us know how he fares." Then Paladin lanced Pippin with one of his piercing looks. Pippin, transfixed, merely nodded.

But that, of course, was something he had never done. There hadn't been time to leave a message during their brief night at Crickhollow, even had it been safe to do so. Pippin had to rely upon his original plan. Once Fatty's deception was discovered, and folk realized that Frodo was no longer at Crickhollow as he wanted them to believe, Fatty was to send word to Tookland. The letter Pippin had left for his parents would seem woefully inadequate, but it was the best he could do given his limited knowledge at the time.

"Dear Mum and Dad," he wrote. "I am terribly sorry to leave you in this mysterious way, but an adventure has fallen upon Frodo, and I really must see it through. Secrecy is vital. Only Fatty knows our plans. I daresay he'll be able to fill you in more fully when the time comes. I know we must depart soon, though I do not know the day. I will write you again if I am able.

"I do not know how long I'll be away—some months, I should expect. I cannot tell you any details about our road, for I do not know it myself. Frodo is closer than ever; were it not for Sam keeping his ears open, I'd never have had a clue as to his plans. Sam and Merry go with us; between the four of us, we should be safe enough. I will do my very best to take care of myself and the others along the road. Please don't worry about me. I hate to leave you so suddenly, but I could not be happy with myself if I let my dear cousin face danger unprotected. I trust that you all will be well enough until I return. Please believe that nothing but the utmost emergency could call me away so.

"I remain, your loving son,

Pippin."


	4. Chapter 4

Pippin's mouth was dry as the eight-pony cavalcade pulled up in the stable courtyard. His note, composed so long ago, was all that his parents had had to sustain them over months of suspense. Of course, he'd never really had a chance to write them. Perhaps he should have done, while they stayed in Rivendell. But the uncertainty of the Black Riders lurking about, or of other spies that might be shadowing their road, had made the attempt seem recklessly foolish, even had Pippin been bold enough to prevail upon Elrond for a messenger. And so he had said nothing, while the days stretched into a year, and then began to lap the calendar again. It had been fourteen months since he had sat at table with his family. And even then he'd set off with hardly a proper goodbye, deliberately, so as to allay suspicion.

Well, suspicion had apparently been allayed, quite soundly. Everyone he'd spoken to so far thought he was dead! Pippin felt uncomfortable as he recalled some of the passages in his letter. Perhaps he shouldn't have offered to write, as he had had no clear idea of what his circumstances might be. Then, when a follow-up letter never arrived, his friends and family were left to draw their own conclusions. Pippin swallowed. Knight of Gondor he might be, and one of the celebrated Four Companions. Yet here in the wings of the stables, which hadn't changed a whit from his last visit, he felt only the keen embarrassment of an underage son who was dreadfully late, and had no good explanation for being so.

The sound of the ponies' hoofs roused the sleeping Smials. Lights flickered to life in the burrow for the head groom and the rooms of the ostlers. Even in the Smial proper, where the great extended family dwelt, lights bloomed in windows here and there, one by one. Tookland slept uneasily.

"You'd best go straight in," Ferdi said to Pippin, as they dismounted. "I'll sort out this lot here, and arrange for fresh ponies. Yours, at least, looks fairly done in."

"He's had a long day." Pippin stroked the blaze down Cormallen's face. "Have a rest now, dear fellow. You're home."

The stable hound bolted to the end of his chain, baying a warning. He was silenced abruptly by a voice that could belong only to Old Briff, the head groom. Unwilling to be delayed by explanations, Pippin nodded to Ferdibrand. Pushing Cormallen's reins into Ferdi's hand, Pippin hurried for the side entrance to the Smials.

He swept the door open, and ducked through. His first impression was that the lintel had been lowered. His next impression was that the whole hall had shrunk. Between his cloak, armor, and the increased height that was suddenly brought back into mind, he filled the passage nicely. He rounded the corner briskly, and nearly ran Erling down.

The butler started, making the candles gutter as he jumped back. He stared up at Pippin with astonishment. Pippin in turn looked down. The fellow looked much as he had always done, only… so small. His brown hair was askew, but his dressing gown was neatly knotted, though he must only have risen from sleep.

Erling gasped, "Mr. Pippin—sir!"

Pippin nodded. "Good evening, Erling. It's a pleasure to see you again. Is my father at home?"

Erling looked near to fainting. "In his room, I reckon, unless the noise has disturbed him."

"I must speak with him at once." Pippin smiled. "It's all right, Erling. I'm not a ghost."

Erling managed a weak smile. "No, sir. I never thought you were."

"Thank goodness. That makes one."

With a nod, Pippin passed him. He strode quickly towards the family burrow. The sound of doors opening and closing down various corridors showed that many hobbits had already been disturbed. Pippin turned a corner and pulled up sharply. That could only be Cousin Adelard farther up the hall. He was turned away to call to someone else, invisible round the bend, where a single sconce flickered.

"No, Odo, he's not in his rooms," he called. "Eglantine thinks he went to the map room. I'm headed there now."

Pippin ducked into the side passage. The second parlor lay between the map room and the stables. If Pippin headed that way, he would likely meet his father on the way.

Pippin instincts proved true. He had no sooner set foot in the parlor, when a hobbit in a blue silk dressing gown bearing a full candelabrum stepped through the farther door. He looked up and froze, their eyes meeting across the width of the room. It was Paladin.

Pippin felt slightly breathless. The room seemed to whirl. Mastering himself, he inclined his head. "Hello, Father."

For the space of three heartbeats, Paladin didn't move. Then, slowly, he advanced, setting the candelabrum on the table as he passed, his gazed locked on Pippin's the entire time. Pippin held his ground, listening to his heart pound. His father stood a pace before him, still formidable, still solid. The top of his head came only to Pippin's nose.

Then, silently, he gathered Pippin into his arms. His embrace tightened fiercely, though he made no sound. Pippin hugged him gently in return, unwilling to drive the links of his hauberk into his father's elegant gown. A little awkwardly, he tipped his head to lay his cheek against his father's hair.

A rush and murmur sounded in the doorway that Pippin had just stepped through. The scurrying footsteps halted immediately, as whoever they were beheld the scene. Pippin eased his embrace, and his father did likewise. They stood apart once more.

His father was crying. Pippin stared. He'd never seen Paladin cry, ever. Yet here his father stood, his eyes red in the gleam of the candles, with moisture all round their edges. It was like a knife to Pippin's heart, to see his father so… wounded, and to know that he, and his absence, had caused it.

Pippin whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad. So very, very sorry."

Paladin nodded; apparently, he didn't trust his voice yet. His gaze wandered in puzzlement over Pippin's gear.

"It's from Gondor," Pippin explained. "I'm a subject of the King. The true King has returned, and taken back his realm; I traveled with him, and saw him crowned." At Paladin's bewildered silence, Pippin continued, "He sent me home on leave, to spread the news. All of us have come back, Merry and Sam, and Frodo, too. Merry is a knight of Rohan. We fought in the wars there, to free Middle-earth."

"_Pippin!_"

Pippin turned. The parlor door behind him was positively crammed with relatives, all staring. Adelard stood in front, along with Odovacar and Reginard, but a diminutive form slipped through them all. _Mother_.

"Pippin!" she cried, and flung herself upon him. Pippin had passed her height before he left home. Even so, he was startled at how low about his chest she seized him, careless of all else in her joy.

She raised her tear-streaked face to his. "Oh, Pippin. My little Pip," she murmured in obliviousness to his height, stroking his cheek. "I knew—I never gave up hoping. Even when you disappeared, I always thought you might return."

"Mother." Feeling more awkward than ever, Pippin brushed a tear from her cheek. "I never meant to be so long away. But one thing led to another, and it was all so very pressing…" He looked round to catch his father's eye. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Yes, well." Paladin wiped the water from his eyes, then took a steadying breath. "So, you've made it home at last. Unmolested, too, apparently! I should have thought you would have had some trouble at the border, at least."

"So I did. _We_ did." Pippin's embarrassment faded, as the urgency of his errand resurfaced. "Dad, Mum, I had no notion that the Shire might be in danger when I left. I thought that the danger followed Frodo alone. It wasn't until we reached the Bridge of Stonebows two days ago that we had any idea of the difficulties here."

"Oh, Pippin." Eglantine's eyes brimmed. "It has been _such_ a year."

"So I understand—now." He spoke briskly, to keep at bay the emotion that had afflicted both his parents' eyes and threatened to affect his own. "We arrived at last and broke Rules left and right. The Shirriffs arrested us at Frogmorton, but we walked them off their feet. When we rode into Bywater this evening, reinforcements were waiting for us—half a dozen Men, with clubs. We drove them off, but they were horn-calling as they ran. They meant to raise the Hobbiton gang. Farmer Cotton believes that Bywater can handle that lot, but tells me there are many more ruffians at Waymeet. They will certainly attack Bywater in the morning, if they can get word to their fellows tonight. And they will likely come in force, to 'stamp out the match quick,' as Merry puts it." Pippin met his father's eyes. "I am dreadfully late, but I'm home now. We're raising the Shire, Dad. I promised them an army of Tooks in the morning. Will you come?"

Paladin's eyes glittered in the candlelight. He looked past Pippin, to the doorway. Pippin turned to follow his gaze.

"At long last, Adde," Paladin said. "Here's our call. Sound the muster, will you?"

Adelard's weathered face split in a grin. "With pleasure!"

As he turned hurriedly for the door, Paladin called, "I'll want six score at least to send to Bywater—young chaps but sturdy, who can march fast. And I'll want a screen of bowmen all round, both to guard the army, and for mop-up and defense. Find as many as you can here—we'll pick up more from the Green Country as we sweep north. Can you do all that in an hour?"

Adelard nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I can do it in half the time. We'll get to Bywater ahead of the ruffians, never fear."

The crowd made way for Adelard to push through them. Once he reached the doorway, he dashed down the hall, trotting fast. The rest of them crowded farther into the room. Pippin felt the thrill of their tension prickle over his skin, like lightning.

"Erling!" Paladin barked. "Bring the maps from my desk here. We'll never all fit in the map room."

"Sir!"

"Odo, some more light, please, or the maps will be useless. Reginard!"

The sturdy hobbit stepped forward eagerly. "Yes, sir."

Paladin held his eyes. "It is absolutely essential that someone get through to Saradoc as soon as might be." Paladin shifted his gaze to Pippin; so potent was his glance, Pippin felt it almost as a physical touch. "Have you sent word to Saradoc already? Does he know of your coming?"

Pippin frowned. "I'm not sure. When we saw how things were at the Bridge, we decided to come straight on to Hobbiton. But Hob Hayward of Buckland was at the Bridge, and he was friendly enough. He might have sent word down to Bucklebury, if he thought he could get away with it."

"I need more certainty than that." Paladin turned back to Reginard. "We must assume that Saradoc knows nothing about his son's return, or the subsequent rising. Someone must travel the Stock Road with all speed. I need Buckland to attack the forces massed at the Woody End—tomorrow, if possible, while the Men there might still be off their guard. If he cannot engage them, he must find some way to keep them occupied. Otherwise, we leave Tookland vulnerable to the east."

"I'll see to it," Reginard said grimly. "My Everard's out on the eastern fringe tonight. You'll not find a bolder rider. He'll get through, come what may."

"Send Uffo to him with a message. He has that speedy mare. Best have him bring two spare ponies on a lead; they're pretty well dug in throughout the Green Country, and we can't count on finding fresh mounts—not without a delay, and I can't afford delay. If they bring their own ponies, they might switch off as they go and make better time."

"I'll have Briff give me the fastest mounts in his stable. Make way, gents. I've a message to write."

The crowd shifted to let Reginard out the door leading to the stables, even as Erling, maps held high, entered the room by the opposite way. Pippin looked about him in surprise. All the while they'd been talking, the room had been quietly filling up with people. There must be over forty of them now. Pippin noticed his sisters, standing in a huddle near the door. They were watching him, looking both astonished and alarmed. Pippin nodded, but could not speak due to the intervening bodies. A few of the newcomers shot interested looks Pippin's way, but most of them seemed intent upon the plans for the impending battle. No doubt they'd had their look at him when they'd first come in. Now they were all business.

Erling made his way through to the low table, where he helped Paladin spread out a much-marked map of the Shire. The crowd closed about it eagerly. From the front row, his mother watched intently, wringing her hands.

Paladin knelt to study the annotations. "According to our latest reports," he said to the room in general, "there are some thirty ruffians in Bywater and Hobbiton, although most are gathered at Bag End. Does that match what you learned, Pippin?"

Pippin became conscious of the many eyes turned suddenly towards him. "I didn't see the gang myself, only the six that tried to stop us. But Farmer Cotton thought there might be two dozen or so in Hobbiton, all those who weren't roaming about 'gathering,' as he put it. They expected to meet the Hobbiton gang tonight, in Bywater. I imagine that engagement has already been fought."

A grim silence filled the room. It struck Pippin, for the first time, what was happening: already, somewhere in the Shire, the first battle for freedom had already been fought. He felt a curl of worry for his friends, then put it from his mind. Surely, after coming so far through so many perils, none of them would fall to a ruffian's club at this late date…

"Bywater might be able to raise two hundred," Paladin was saying, "but they'll be poorly armed. If the fighting was sharp, they'll welcome any force that comes well-prepared. _This_ is the real trouble." Paladin tapped the town of Waymeet. "There's never less than sixty ruffians in the village, and they send bands roving in all directions. A goodly number is always skulking about the borders of Tookland. No one challenged you, Pippin, when you rode in tonight?"

"None but our own watchers. But I rode with six other lads, and a lurking spy might have been reluctant to challenge so large a party."

Paladin nodded. "We must assume that you have been seen. They will even now be getting the word out, north, east, and south. We needn't worry about the Woody End for a while; Uffo and Everard have a chance of outracing any messages they send there, given the distance. Any rogues squatting in Pincup cannot come north in time. But there's another three score of the villains settled at Michel Delving. If warned, they may choose not to march to Bywater. Instead, such a force might well make a foray south into Tookland, to attack our flank. We must get word west, and put our people there on their guard."

Just then, a great clamoring of bells rang out. Pippin started, as did the rest. A determined murmuring broke out, and the tension in the room tightened another notch.

Paladin smiled. "I see Adelard has sounded the muster. Well, we are ready. Tookland is in the center of the conflict, as usual. While this means we must look to every border, it also puts us in the excellent position of being able to manage the attack. We must trust Buckland to protect our right. Whitwell and Tookbank must guard our left. But I, and the majority of strength I can raise, will march south, to engage the ruffians who have taken root in Longbottom. From there, we must push them back, through Sarn Ford and out of the Shire."

"South?" Pippin felt his jaw slackening. "Then you won't… you won't come to Bywater?"

Paladin gave him a keen look, though a smile played about his lips. "I shall send _you_ to Bywater. With the force we can muster in Tuckborough, as well as those you might gather along the way from our outposts and the Green Hills, I doubt that you'll arrive with fewer than a hundred to bolster the Bywater contingent, and perhaps half as many again in archers. Meanwhile, Bywater will have had all night to prepare. You can master them, son. It's the enemy to the south we must fall upon in force, before they learn their peril, and come at us fully prepared."

"_You're sending him away?_"

Eglantine's cry pierced the taut atmosphere of the room. She looked from her husband to her son, shocked. "He's only just arrived, and you're sending him away? You're sending him into a _battle_?"

Paladin rose and took his wife gently by the shoulders. "It's what he came for, my love," he murmured. "Pippin means to save the Shire, and we must let him do it."

For a moment, everyone grew still. The bells continued to ring. Already Pippin could hear a growing din from outside, as of many raised voices, that filtered into the room despite the depth of the passage.

Eglantine held her husband's eyes, then nodded and dipped her head. Pippin felt a tremendous surge of relief, mingled with sadness.

"Well," said old Odo into the silence, "if we're going to save the Shire, we'd best be about it. Shall we help Adelard sort the muster into companies?"

"Of course." Paladin released his wife and turned. "We'll reconvene in the courtyard. I'll explain our approach to the rest of Tuckborough, after Pippin's group gets off. We don't want to hold him up for that. Bywater will be the focal point, and we cannot fail her; time is not so pressing for those of us heading south."

The throng in the parlor broke up as everyone made for the door. A drone of voices rose as everyone turned to his or her neighbor to indulge their thoughts. Pippin suddenly found himself in a swirl of well-wishers. Every hobbit in the room seemed intent upon greeting him in person, shaking his hand or patting his back, or calling out a welcome if the press was too thick to let him through.

The mob propelled him to the door—where his eldest sister waited, pressed against the jamb with a saucy smile on her lips. His other sisters had vanished—likely pushed into the hall by the exiting swarm. But nobody ever pushed Pearl. Pippin paused to speak with her, as the remainder of the crowd filtered past him with warm words and pats of appreciation.

"I knew you weren't dead," she greeted him. "The others were never sure, but I was certain you'd turn up."

Pippin grinned. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You never got the knack of maintaining a proper correspondence, is your problem. I knew your lack of communication was pure indolence on your part."

Pippin's smile faltered. He wasn't entirely certain whether Pearl, under the cover of jest, was making a serious point.

She flicked a finger against the silver tree broidered on his tunic. "What on earth have you been up to? And why in heaven's name are you so tall?"

Pippin's smile relaxed. "Is my older sister actually inquiring into one of my adventures? Now I think I _have_ encountered all the marvels of Middle-earth."

Odo, who had been carried by the throng nearly to the end of the hall, turned and called Pippin's name. He waved for his attention, as the rest pushed past him, heading for the stable yard.

"I would love to fill you in, my little big sister," he said, drawing a smirk from Pearl, "but duty calls. Doubtless we'll have more time to talk when I return. Provided, of course, that you're still interested."

"Make it a longer stay next time." She laid her hand briefly against his cheek, then slipped round the corner and vanished up the hall. Surprised and touched, Pippin watched her go.

"Pippin!" Odo called. "Come on!"


	5. Chapter 5

The courtyard was even busier than Pippin had expected. For all that Adelard had sounded the bell mere minutes ago, already the place was teeming with a riot of voice and color. Hobbits of every description packed the stable yard, some of them armed, some of them half dressed, and all of them keenly excited.

When Pippin ducked his head to step outside, a cheer went up. To his astonishment, the whole of Tuckborough, it seemed, was massed in the courtyard, rattling weapons or clapping their hands. Many were shouting his name at the top of their lungs.

"_Hooray for Pippin! Peregrin Took! The son of the Thain returns!_"

"Hey, Pippin!" yelled Fosco, one of his old mates. "Nice outfit!"

Paladin, standing a little to one side, raised his hands for silence. "As I started to say," he began loudly, to cut through the noise, "we'll need two forces." The crowd hushed immediately. "Those who will march with Peregrin must leave at once. Look to where Ferdibrand is waving the standard, by the western wing. I think Adelard has been arranging supplies for them—yes? All right, if you're marching with Pippin, assemble there immediately. Everyone from the Smials, bring your weapon. We'll pass through the village, so if you're from Tuckborough and need rations or arms—or clothes—" A chuckle went up. "—you can pick them up as you pass. Time is of the essence. You must make it to Bywater by mid-morning, or you may be too late to help. It is the province of the Thain to protect the Shire. Tookland will not fail them!"

The crowd roared. Arrows clacked on bows, and some banged sling-stones together.

Paladin signaled again for silence. "This is the first mustering of the Shire since the White Wolves attacked from the North, an event now beyond living memory. This time the enemy has crept among us quietly, but they are no less lethal for all that. From this moment, we are at war. Lives are at stake. Indeed, in Bywater, even as we speak, doubtless the first blood has already been spilled." The crowd grew quiet, and grim. "It is a strength of the Shire, I believe, that we do not think to turn to club or bow to settle our differences. Yet there are times when only the bow or sling-stone will serve. From now until the Shire is free, we must adopt a martial attitude. Enemies who escape may warn their fellows, or inflict harm upon our own folk. We must be ruthless. If an enemy cannot be subdued or captured… he must be slain. Your hearts will be reluctant to do it. Yet you must act decisively, if the Shire is to win free."

In the somber pause, Pippin heard doors banging and feet running up, as more hobbits hurried to join the muster. They packed the crowd even tighter, pushing in from the rear. Pippin lifted his head to speak into the pause.

"What my father says is true. I know this enemy; I have dealt with them before. If their methods are anything like those they employed at Isengard, in the Wizard's Vale, then they will leave the Shire a desert and its people homeless—or worse." Pippin drew a breath. "I have fought orc and troll, and wicked Men, to protect my friends and help set our King upon his throne. At times I doubted whether any of us would win through. Yet I fought on, for always I felt behind me the presence of Tookland, a balm to my heart and a shield at my back. Now I return to find that most precious place of all under threat, and the good folk of the Shire oppressed. I will not stop until our land is clean. I owe that much to my father, at least. And I would not have the King learn that I, his servant, failed him in my own homeland, after all the deeds that so many have done to set the rest of Middle-earth to rights." He drew his sword; it flickered orange in the torches' glare. "Arise, dear hobbits! With myself to the north, my father to the south, and Buckland coming in on the east, we shall drive these intruders over the River and into the Wilderness, such that they will never be heard from again. The Shire will be free, for we shall make her so. To Bywater, my friends!"

"To Bywater!" the assembly roared, followed by a great clamor of cheering.

Pippin looked towards his father, but Paladin did nothing to stop the shouting. The Thain's eyes glimmered in the torchlight, though he smiled. He inclined his head. Pippin bowed in turn. Sheathing his sword, he stepped into the crowd, making for Ferdibrand's banner.

It took him some time to win through, as the crowd was high-spirited, keen to cheer him or pound his back in hearty welcome. There was no question of their losing sight of him, as he stood a good half-a-head taller than the rest. This worked to his advantage in the end, for Ferdibrand pushed through a clot of supporters who clustered round him, and seized his arm.

"We've got nearly seventy ready to march," he said quickly, over the noise. "Young chaps, and swift; I'm directing the older volunteers over to Adelard, who's organizing the muster for Longbottom. I've sent the lads you rode in with ahead to the various posts, each with one of ours as a guide. They'll get word to our circle of watchers, who can pass the news along to the townships north and west. Our lads will then sweep round to the east, gathering all the help they can raise, mostly bowmen, and meet us south of Bywater. I reckoned that was best; those Bywater chaps know their own fields, and will know how to position the archers to cut off any escape for these villains, should they seek it."

"Excellent." Pippin looked back towards the Smial. His father stood in a pool of light, speaking urgently with Adelard and Odo. Doubtless the southern venture was being refined. Doors opened and closed continually as burrows divulged additional hobbits, armed and serious, to join the throng.

"I must admit I'm surprised," Pippin murmured, "to find Tookland so prepared."

Ferdibrand smiled. "Your father's been spoiling for a fight all year. He saw the trouble sooner than most, and took what steps he could to make Tookland ready. He said it was the ancient duty of the Thain to defend the Shire, and he'd not be caught negligent on his watch. It grieved him to have to sit bottled up here, watching helplessly while the rest of the Shire slowly succumbed."

Pippin set his jaw. "We shall correct that tonight. Thank goodness!" Pippin looked at the eager group—his soldiers—pressing in close to hear his and Ferdibrand's words. "Shall we wait, or are we ready to go?"

"I say we're ready to start. We must pass through the village slowly, as half this lot still lacks their gear. It will be no trick to keep up with us. Once we pass the guardhouse, however, we must pick up the pace."

"Very well."

Ferdibrand guided Pippin towards the banner. Pippin saw two ponies waiting there.

"I got you a fresh one," Ferdi explained. "Only you and I will be riding; most of the ponies are being reserved for the messengers. Once we near Bywater, and know what our final strength will be, I'll ride ahead and let them know of our coming."

Pippin laughed. "Yes, Ferdi, that will do. Ah, how my heart sings! It is so very good to be home again. Though I've tramped from one end of Middle-earth to the other, through forest and fen and heart of mountain, there is no place like this, and no people so grand as these."

The hastily assembled force, listening on every side, grinned and nodded with approval at his words. Pippin mounted his pony, and the standard bearer took up his staff just behind him. Here and there among Pippin's small army, wives, mothers, or fathers embraced the soldiers preparing to march. Pippin looked back towards the Great Smials.

His father was no longer directing his advisors. His gaze was fastened upon Pippin, across the heads of the crowd. His mother had come out, and stood beside her husband. She peered worriedly across the courtyard, as if trying to make out his face in the darkness. They were too far away for speech.

"Ferdibrand," Pippin said evenly, "sound the call."

The herald blew the hunting call of Tookland. The watching crowd cheered.

Of all his adventures, Pippin thought this was in some ways the most surreal. He was home, yet he wasn't. The people were the same, or nearly so, yet they _felt_ so different. That should hardly be wondered at, as Pippin supposed _he_ was so different. Pearl wanted to talk to him. His father had bowed to him with _respect_. And now he sat a fretting pony, ready to lead a band of willing friends, relatives, and strangers to an uncertain fate. It was all very strange.

In the past year, Pippin had been a captive of Barrow-wight, Ent, and tree. He'd been a bother to the Fellowship and baggage for the Orcs. He'd killed a troll all by himself in a hopeless battle. He'd been a page to a Steward and a knight to a King. Yet of all his many roles and adventures, it suddenly struck him that _this_ was who he was: Peregrin of Tookland, son of the Thain. In all of Middle-earth, there was no one else he'd rather be.

Pippin raised his sword. Loud above the clamor, he called, "Tookland to Bywater! Peregrin for the Shire!"

"Bywater!" yelled the crowd. "Onward Peregrin Thainson!"

His pony snorted, prancing and bowing his head. Proudly, he stepped forward. Pippin sat tall. Behind him, he could feel his parents watching him—the shield at his back. Smiling gently, he rode into the night.


End file.
